Mr Williamson's Side Dish
by SkaggyBawed
Summary: NOT based on movie. Based on the novel Trainspotting's sequel "Porno" created by IRVINE WELSH. But there was no Trainspotting in the book catergory so this worked, too. Its a quick story about Sick BoySimon and a Nicki Fuller-Smith type girl he's won ove


The pool ran down his head, trickling over his bleached hair, cascading onto his white linen shirt, which I despised. I hated that shirt so much. Just the thought of him in that piece of fabric spotted with the red, poked happiness in my otherwise uninterrupted black cloud of hate. His gorgeous chestnut eyes screamed for mercy, for pity, anything that would take him away from the psycho he was in this room with. There Simon was again, always thinking of himself. Always looking out for Number 1. Never taking the fucking time to reach out for anyone else. I may be the one with the knife. I may be the one with his blood on my hands. But I'm not the fucked up one. I'm the one who sorted out this irrational jackass. "Laaanaa", he pleads, as if I would even consider saving him now. He screams my name, pretending he actually cares. He only cares because he's the one with something to lose, and he isn't even fucking anyone over for it. The duvet is covered in blood, he's crying like the selfish spoiled brat he's made himself out as. Fucking loser. "Oh Simon, did I hurt you?" I say in the cruelly sarcastic tone he's grown accustomed to. He starts spitting out curses, oh so uncharacteristically. He's wheeling about the room, trailing blood all over the virginal white carpet and marble. The room smells like cleaning fluids and sweat, with the sickly orgasmic undertone of his cologne. For a brief second, there is doubt the rest of the night will go under my control. If he leaves this hotel, I'm screwed. Knowing him, pumped with cocaine, alcohol and testosterone, he'll tell the first guy he sees that I'm a radge idiot and tried to kill him. He spots the doors and its enticing gold handle. Before he can limp towards the portal outside, I tackle him and his face hits the steps with a sickening smack. More rivers of perverse curses leak between those lovely lips. For a second there's a mass of convulsing and the usually drug-induced stiffness of Simon ceases and his figure goes limp. I cry out into the dim glow of the cheap hotel lamp, hoping with all my heart that I hadn't killed him. There's an overwhelming feeling of jealously. I'm jealous of his Hollywood lifestyle, his rotating tables of whores who he constantly reassures me do not exist, and all of his success. All the pain and misery I've withheld for the past two years wells up inside me and I explode in a fit of tears and panic. The room spins, my throat tightens and blood from an unknown source pours over my face. I feel dizzy and confused. The terror of what I've done seizes my heart and my chest burns. Death means nothing now. Just my escape, my only way out of the self-indulging hell hole. I lay there, with my limbs folded inward hoping for death to seize me. I just want all the shit to stop. I want to leave Simon. Leave the pathetic excuses I've made for mates. Leave my life. But like everything else, I fail.  
  
The lies. The betrayal. It hadn't begun this way. In fact it had begun with a fairy tale-type meeting, the surest sign our relationship would end sadistically. Barely legal, I went out for a night of club hopping with some deadbeat friends of mine who had adopted me as a pet project. Turning well-educated women into a smack head was an obvious long-term goal for this lovely group, and I stayed along for the ride. A whole new circuit of clubbing was introduced to my fetal mind. There was an underground buzz, this ere of mystery and rebellion that called me out of my college shell. Henri or Hen as we coolly referred to him, was my security guard while we were out. There was a bit of attraction, not reaching into his soberness of course. Our group moved as a mass, rippling in a clump of bodies, down streets and in local pubs, reeking childish havoc on bored housewives or tired businessmen. Good, clean fun was all it was. A little enjoyment in the tedious lives we all held, spending other people's money, learning for five hours in return for nineteen hours of parties, drugs and alcohol. This was all about to change. The double doors of Le Crème banged open and our posse entered as royally as humanly possible. The building moved with music and people. The floor was a pounding ocean of women, men and everything in between. We had found our calling. Half the group heading to the pisser, the rest slipped into the crowd and rubbed up against strangers and themselves. To go unnoticed, I headed to the bar and pretended to take drink orders for a slew of my mates, intending to drink all of them. The song changed, and different stereotypes exchanged dancing locations to a more techno-driven tune. I shook my head and downed another shot with disgust at this pathetic excuse for music. "Stupid shite if you ask me", said a deliciously smooth voice from beside me. My head whipped round and I stared into the handsomely stoned eyes of Mr. Williamson, or so it said on his "Hi, My Name Is" tag which tore tender holes through his adorably taut white linen shirt. I chuckled heartily and he smiled. A wicked, devious smile made for the sole purpose of destruction. Oh how that smirk had caused so much pain. If only I had known to leave, to call my friends over and vacate this raunchy club. But no, those eyes, that glistening smile, those brilliantly greasy bleached locks just pulled me closer until I could smell the cologne of which he reeked. He was perfect in every sense. If only it had stayed that way. "Would you care to leave for a quick smoke?" he inquired gently, nudging himself closer. I agreed and he took my hand to lead me away from the numerous drinks I had ordered and away from everything I held dear. We raced outside into the dark underbelly of an alleyway ridden with garbage and smoldering cigarette butts. My purse rubbed uncomfortably at my hip, banging loudly as we jogged towards an open smoking area. "This your first time here? I haven't seen you before and..", his hands dropped, forgetting the lighter and pack of cigs, "I'd remember such intensely beautiful eyes." For a full minute, we gazed into each other's souls, not caring about past mistakes or about the old beggar who sat near us, pishing himself blind as he sung Nightclubbing. I could see him now, in his entire splendor staring right through me, assessing my weaknesses and tracking them for future reference and I cared not in the least. The only thing on my mind was those eyes of his. Beautifully wide, as if expectant. Chestnut with specks of the color of dark chocolate, waiting to devour me. Embraced in his arms, we stood for hours talking about life and what we wanted and how many people we'd have to screw over to get it. Walking around the dark, damp streets in his arms filled me with too much enlightenment I despised the sun as it peeked over the gnarly buildings. "Fuck. Listen, love, I've got work but if you want you can come with me. I'll only be a few minutes and then we can go for a nip at Teddy's. That good?" he stated, pulling me into a bus terminal. "Where do you work?" I asked, trying to sound as un-nosy as possible. His eyes shifted nervously around and his back became stiff as I hugged him closer. "C'mon Si, you can tell me. It's not like you kill people" I chuckled. No response came and he was rigid. I suddenly pulled away but he grabbed at my hips and back and brought me closer to him as I yelped and tried to break free from his monstrous grasp. He cupped my head and leaned his face to my ear. I squirmed and yelled as maids, businesswomen, and cashiers stared. His hands brushed my hair away from my ears swiftly and he whimpered, "Just kidding".  
  
Still laughing as we exited the bus and went into a modern building, he trotted in front as I sulked behind him in a state of defeat. He greeted receptionists and secretaries and nodded to a few fat cats in Armani suits. As the sunlight framed him, I realized he was very well dressed for someone who had been nightclubbing. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I involuntarily slouched behind him as he whipped open the doors to yet another room. We walked into a brilliant corner office, two walls of windows overlooking the now cheery city. He walked to a bureau and began to undress. Still not certain on our relationship, I turned and stared out the window to ease the embarrassment and ponder his occupation. I felt arms around my stomach and his gentle chin on my shoulder. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he spoke to himself, hugging me tighter. Clouds rolled over tiny red, blue and black dots that lined the street and waited for crosswalks and the underground. Tourists' bulbs flashed in the park opposite his window and the sun streamed into the glass and turned my waiting face warm. His grip relaxed and he went over to the black box on his large, authoritative looking desk. Pressing buttons he told an awaiting female voice to bring in some breakfast and tea and to order him a taxi in an hour. There was an agreeing click, and I sat on his lap on a big black leather chair spinning in his arms.  
  
Our playfulness ceased when a feverish woman entered with some croissants and tea. I got off Simon's lap and headed to the other window, as she looked indecisive of me. He thanked her and she left the now quiet room. "Love, that's just Marge. She won't bite your pretty lil head off." He teased, but it was awkward and from our late breakfast to the taxi we barely spoke. As the yellow bug sped off, he spat my address at the driver and closed the privacy window. With a questioning glance, I asked "So what are you gonna do now, huh? Just drop me off at home. Yeah thanks, I really appreciate it Mister." Before he could cut in with his apologetic mug, I continued, "you think you can just sweep me off my fucking feet and leave me flat out? Why can't for once in my life, I get what I want? Hmm? Can you answer that Simon? Why did you have to lead me on and make it look like there was a chance we'd get any closer then one night of wandering the streets?". I was out of breath and sobbing, gripping onto my last feelings of pride as the left me just as my tears did. He stared at me for the longest time without speaking and his confused face broke into another million-dollar grin, which induced another fit of crying. "I wanted to take you home so you could get changed. I was wondering if you cared to join me for lunch but I didn't think you'd want to go to a posh lunch meeting with your night clothes on my little chickadee." He stared at me, knowing that he had proved me wrong and broken his façade of a womanizing asshole. And I knew it to. It was sad how easily I was won over by his lies. Instead of accepting my defeat, I leaned over to kiss him. We were in the most romantic grip until the taxi came to a screeching halt outside my flat. I invited him up and he watched some football as I glammed myself up for high society and for my new best mate.  
  
"Forey!" he chuckled whole-heartedly. "You crazy ass, how are ya?". The high society café was drenched in shit-faced CEOs and their mistresses, pissing away their ill-earned money on hundred dollar entrees and Italian champagne. The fresh façade of new girlfriend quickly spread over me as I was introduced to Mr. Mikey Forester. The obese flushed man grabbed my anxious hand and laid a slobbery kiss on the top of it. He looked up from my now drenched appendage with a sick gleam in his eye. Disgusting old jack, I thought, not letting on my distaste for Simon's sake. We sat and this shady character ordered in French to some stuffy waiter. Wary of me, they began discussing business-type agendas and I played along every second of it. Investments, profits, margins, loss - it all was just a mask. I nodded with agreement or chortled at their champagne-induced jokes. The folds in my new black dress began to turn into creases, and I shifted uncomfortably in the padded chair. Their buzz wearing off, Si noticed my movement and decided to take their conversation to some municipal park. I hurriedly announced I had to be moving along. Simon's eyes shot jealous glares in my direction, as Forester rose for the custom exit ceremony. "It was a pleasure, miss. I hope we'll be meeting again." He winked and Simon did one of his infamous false laughs, grabbing my waist as we headed for the door. "What is it, huh? Are you a bit under the weather?" he slurred into my neck. "I just need some sleep, that's all. No hassle. I'll call your mobile later if I have time before class to be out." With a quick peck I left Mr. Williamson standing unsatisfied in the framed doorway.  
  
The next weeks and months spun by in a blur of bliss and excitement. Attending meetings followed by countless nights together. When I was with him, I could only stare into has awaiting eyes or lose myself in that Italian-featured face of his. The brown eyebrows contrasted his platinum blond mane in the most endearing way. It was perhaps at this time I had fallen madly in love with this raving, egotistic asswipe. You'd think between the cocaine, drugs, and money laundering I would find something displeasing enough to end out magical relationship. He dealt with the scum of the earth. Junkies, crack whores, pimps and every bloody trash in between. I went to his posh job; he dressed me in Armani and Gucci. I went to his underground deals; he dressed me as the whore. I met his adorably oblivious parents; he dressed me as the aspiring kindergarten teacher. And I loved it. I loved that after we'd launder money or trick unsuspecting idiots, we'd hug each other until there was no energy left in either of us. The way I felt held up against him was too radiant to be diminished. I laughed with him. I cried. He dried my tears and promised me more love than I could ever need. I bought it. All the bullshit lines he fed me, all the betrayal, everything. And the worst part was that I knew it wasn't real and I allowed myself to be pulled along like a fish dragged over a hot summer dock, hook penetrating its mouth and gills.  
  
The seasons flashed before me, and I sat in his bed in a lovely London hotel. He lay there next to me, innocently sleeping. Of course, nothing with him was innocent. He was a user. He was a pimp. He stole shit. He was a bad person. I became one to stay with him. I hated myself and what I had become. It's always easier to blame him, because morally he was sin in its purest form, like the cocaine he had sucked up that pretty little nose of his only hours ago. I grabbed one of his silk shirts and threw it on, hurrying to the bathroom for a quick shower. Before I could turn on the water, he stumbled in. "I need to take a shower, Si. I smell like pish and crack." He looked briefly through the internal haze, spat a few ungodly noises and left the door open. The water poured out of the metallic spout, trying its best to rinse me of everything I despised. I picked up the savagely sweet bar of lavender soap and scraped my skin with it. I used all three bottles of shampoo and conditioner, but I still felt dirty. I scrubbed more. And more. My skin hurt and my eyes welled. I kept scrubbing, wailing into the steamy lavatory. "Why the fuck couldn't you have picked up another bitch in that club? Why the fuck did you have to sell yourself to me you devious bitch!" I echoed into the walls. My forearm turned crimson and small dots of dark liquid oozed out of random holes. It was like red polkadots on a beige background. Beautiful colors mixed. My skin burned; there was fire licking at it, but I kept scraping and rubbing with that disgusting scent of a bar. Something grabbed my waist and I screamed and flailed as I was dragged out of the shower and onto the freezing tile. "Shh, love. You'll be ok. You're just a bit nippy tonight" he tried to console me, and I felt myself giving in to his strong arms as he surrounded me. My arm bled onto his white linen shirt and he held my head to his heart. I heard the pounding of the muscle that pumped heroin, cocaine and all that other shite into his system. I just wanted the deafening beat to stop, so I rammed my head into his chest. He hugged me tighter and cried like a fucking baby. "Lana, I never meant to hurt you like this. I love you too much to let you go. Why can't you just love me back" he bawled. "Cause I fucking did you ass and you screwed around with some five dollar whore you choose for a skag deal. You fucked me over. I went to all your fucking gigs, played all your shitty roles. Don't give me that shit you idiot. I may be gullible enough to have fallen for you, but you'll never keep me in this life. I'm leaving. I'm leaving your pathetic ass." I cried, my arm bled along with my nose and lip. I don't recall bleeding from the two latter mentioned, but there was so much blood all over him and the floor. He tried to control me with those testosterone arms of his but I elbowed him and ran as fast as I could away from him. As I leapt for the door, he grabbed my ankle and I plummeted onto the marble flooring. I heard a cracking and he was on top of me, pinning me against the chilled tile. "You're not fucking leaving. You know too much. You'll go off to your stupid lil mates and tell them everything you lying sack of Edinburgh shit. You're staying right here with me and we can live happily fucking after when I fucking decide, you got that?" He screamed into my ear, sending spit into my damp hair and neck. I squirmed and he pressed harder. I cried and screamed and scratched but he wouldn't let go. I turned over and kicked his ripped body off to the side, ramming it into a baseboard. I jumped up and saw what I needed to escape. There was a kitchenette drawer, which had been knocked off its hinges and sent all the utensils smashing to the ground. The sparkle of the blade called to me. I grabbed the smooth black handle. I felt too powerful with this in my hands. I whipped around and was tackled to the shag rug beside the table. He smashed my face into the mold- infested carpet. He grabbed my hair and pounded my head into the pillowed ground. You're. crash. Not. crash. Leaving. crash. My brain bled. My face was smashed. I took the blade and dragged it across his skull, before penetrating the skin on his premature bald spot. 


End file.
